Today
is one day closer to
The Day
when he goes away.
Flashbacks this morning
to junior high,
“Get up! Your dad is ready!”
“But Mommmmmm!”
You’re too old for this, my boy.
The day is coming,
when you move south
to live your next adventure.
Get up and face today
because you’re here so briefly
and today is unfolding
I miss my tribe.
The house is full of pessimistic
scientific thinkers.
I can’t coax them into poetry.
“I just can’t appreciate it,” says one.
“Poetry. Yeah. Whatever,” says the other.
They analyze and ruminate with
cold logic.
They don’t hear the wind’s song,
or feel the blackbird’s call.
I am a lone poet boat tossing
on their scientific sea.
But soon, my tribe will come.
I will be immersed in the language
of verse, pressed into prose.
I will know the companionship
of a crowd of like minds,
feeding on the energy to
fuel our words,
until we come together
again.
.
.
Just 2 weeks until Word on the Lake Writers’ Festival here in Salmon Arm, BC
I’m looking forward to learning from Diana Gabaldon, C. C. Humphreys, Gary Geddes, Ursula Maxwell-Lewis, Carmen Aguerra, Carolyn Swayze, Howard White, and more! It’s always a fantastic weekend for a bargain price. You should come. Seriously.
The men blaze the trail
boldly go forward
willing to risk
to achieve the destination.
And so today
mallard male zips across the highway
boldly flapping, barely
missing the VW missile
travelling 100 km/hr.
Not so fortunate his lady friend
flapping five feet behind.
Ladies
sometimes it is unwise
to blindly follow your mate.
My son,
I gave you my nose:
a perky nose, not vaguely classic.
I gave you my hair:
the colour, the texture, the volume
so you should keep it
(be nice to your poor balding father,
don’t rub that in).
I gave you my height
(sorry about that).
I gave you my obsessive nature:
all into the current interest
for as long as the interest lasts.
I gave you my shoe lust
and an appreciation for the unique.
I’m not sure where you got that charm
that drags the ladies to you,
or the way you stretch your dimes
or your athletic discipline.
It’s fun to see your inheritance
blinking back at me from those
lovely, hazel eyes.
.
.
Mother and son on Mont Juic in Barcelona
The words have been
manipulated, twisted, and set.
Now they fly.
.
.
.
Sent off a collection of 4 poems this week for the CBC Literary Awards, squeezing under the wire at the last minute. It’s a huge national competition, and I don’t have any expectation, but nothing ventured, nothing gained! The pieces must never have been published or performed, so they’re a secret. That was the hardest thing: having to write daily for the blog, and compose something distinct for the contest. It’ll be months before winners are announced, so don’t hold your breath. I’m not! 😉 (But feel free to send some positive vibes my way!)
“I hated him for as long as I could. But then I realized that loving him…that was a part of me, and one of the best parts. It didn’t matter that he couldn’t love me, that had nothing to do with it. But if I couldn’t forgive him, then I could not love him, and that part of me was gone. And I found eventually that I wanted it back.”
Diana Gabaldon in Drums of Autumn
This selection was on my audio book as I was driving to work today. It seems quite profound.
Like two hookers
in black vinyl trench coats
the crows stroll between the yellow lines
each watching the traffic
with one jaundiced eye.
She stepped from
behind the mystery
enveloped our
complicated history
Buried us in
the depths of her mercy
unravelled the strings
of our worry,
spun us in from
exile at the periphery,
and celebrated our
joyful new liberty.
The birch trees
are splattered with new green.
Buds like pretty envelopes, unfold
to reveal letters greeting
summer.
Naked girl
giggling down the road
Babysitter chasing
with the bath towel.
Toddler joyfully
on the run.
.
.
.
I can still hear the giggles in memory, though the toddler in question is now 33 years old. 🙂
Shawn L. Bird 